Why the Gap?
by I've-Gotta-Be-Me
Summary: After the infamous "Warbler Gap Attack", Blaine finds himself in a bigger funk than ever. Thoroughly depressed and harping on everyone else's attempts to help, it's clear that he needs some help getting back on his feet. Kurt is only too happy to oblige.


_Disaster._

Kurt thought he could feel the floor literally dropping from under his feet. He had to be falling, right? All the signs were there: heart in his throat, palms pressed to the arm of the couch, fingers gripping the nearest edge, pupils wide.

But no, nothing was happening. The scenery wasn't blurring, a hole hadn't magically appeared in the ground for him to plunge through, no one had so much as blinked an eye. The Warblers were raising their hands.

They were _raising their hands_.

They were _encouraging_ this. And Kurt didn't know what was worse: the fact that every single hand in the room was now glued to the ceiling or that he had been the one who handed out the adhesive.

* * *

"It was too much, wasn't it?" Blaine repeated for what was conceivably the hundredth time in the past three days.

Perhaps more – he'd started asking about twice every hour. _Every. Hour._ Kurt would get texts at three in the morning (how was Blaine even _awake_ at three in the morning with his schedule – which Kurt _might_ have memorized?) saying, "I can't believe I did that. It was way too much."

And every variation of that statement known to the English language.

Over

and over

and _over_ again.

It made forgetting it – which was Kurt's first priority right now – practically impossible.

"You know, it was not _that _bad," Kurt reassured him. "Really. At least you were having a decent hair day."

"What are you trying to say about my hair?" Blaine asked as they made their way to their lunch table (Kurt loved that they had a _lunch table_) and his voice was rising to a panic. "Are you saying it normally looks bad?" A hand flew to his hair, patting it down needlessly.

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all!" Kurt tried to backtrack. He swatted Blaine's hand away from his head. "Look, you have _got_ to stop being insecure about everything. What happened to the confident, deft, almost-cocky Blaine who told me to stop being the victim?"

"He died," the other boy mumbled. "Somewhere near the sock aisle in the Gap."

"Look, Blaine, you need to let it go," he advised. "It wasn't a _complete_ loss, anyway. You got the Warblers to do a public performance – that's something, right?"

"Yeah, I'm glad the silver-lining of my complete and utter cringe-worthy embarrassment is that our show choir is more adept to repeat it at some other horrifying location under circumstances I do not yet want to fathom."

Kurt rolled his eyes. So it was going to be one of _those_ days – when Blaine made himself the wounded party and everything Kurt said would just be wrong and evoke mope-y, sarcastic remarks.

Great.

Blaine violently slid his tray of food onto the round oak table, nearly spilling all of its contents in the process as he took his seat across from Kurt. There was nothing even slightly healthy on his tray, Kurt couldn't help but notice. Nothing but carbs, fats, and sweets. Blaine was eating his feelings – this was worse than he'd originally thought.

"What do you want me to say?" Kurt asked as sat down. He began cutting his slice of pizza into small pieces. When your school gives you actual silverware to use, he'd found, you _use_ it.

"I want you to tell me that I suck and I'm stupid," Blaine muttered bitterly. He jabbed his fork violently into a small chocolate cake. Damn Dalton's upscale lunch line that catered to every student's whim – even the unhealthy ones. "Tell me why in the world you encouraged the council to let me do this. This is _your_ fault!"

"Hey, hey, slow down there before you get yourself in trouble," Kurt warned. He was wearing the same outfit for the fourth day in a row (Dalton Downside #1) and he was _not_ to be messed with right now. "I was trying to _help_ you, not make a fool out of you. You did _that_ all on your own."

"So it _was_ bad!" Blaine accused, prodding in Kurt's direction with his chocolate-covered fork. "You keep telling me '_It wasn't that bad, Blaine. Don't worry about it._' But you're just trying to cover up what a disaster it was!"

"Is he still going on about this?" Jeff asked as he joined the pair, Nick and David in tow. "It's like watching one of those poor little deer on the Discovery Channel dying: heartbreaking."

They talked about Blaine like he wasn't even there, and the lead Warbler didn't pay them any mind. He was just eating and silently moping, eyes fixed on the wooden table as he chewed with meaning.

"I keep telling him that the other shoppers loved it," Nick added. "But he's completely inconsolable. He gave me the socks he bought and had me _burn_ them," he informed the table in a hushed voice. "I've never seen him like this."

"Do you think he'll be ready to rehearse our Katy Perry medley by this afternoon?" David asked. "Because if not, I'd be more than happy to step in..."

"No one's stepping in anywhere," Kurt informed the lot of them. "And it _wasn't_ a disaster!" he insisted, turning back to Blaine. "You're just taking it way too hard. Jeremiah's an idiot, okay? You saw the way he treated you afterwards; talking to you like you were his annoying little brother's friend who'd developed a crush on him or something."

Blaine groaned. "How pathetic I must've seemed to him. I risked public humiliation for him and I end up looking like a dumb kid who doesn't know how to work a magic trick," he said miserably. "And ends up spilling dove poop out of his oversized sleeves."

"Yeah, I tried that once," Jeff chimed in. "Totally ruined that outfit for life."

"Okay, I really don't want to know which magic trick you're referencing there - "

Blaine groaned from across the table. "I'm so _stupid._"

Kurt chose to ignore that remark. "You didn't risk _public humiliation_ for him," he said, repressing a snort of amusement. "You didn't _risk _anything, Blaine. You just went into that store doing what you do here every day and hoping that Jeremiah would fall to your feet just like everyone else who hears your voice. Now it didn't go your way and you're going to cry about it like a little baby until the next major holiday, right? You're really going to doubt yourself because a guy with a bad haircut and a crappy job told you he wasn't interested."

Blaine was staring at him with his mouth open. Not his most attractive look, Kurt allowed, but very satisfying. "_Excuse me?_" he said slowly.

"You heard me," Kurt told him, taking a sip of his sweet tea. "You need to let it go."

"How am I supposed to get over it?" Blaine demanded. "The Warblers will never take me seriously again."

"Sure we will!" David was quick to say.

Kurt had to laugh at that. "Stop being ridiculous. They'd love you even if you told them all to go to hell. And they'd probably hand you a solo afterwards," he joked, not wanting to seem _too_ jealous.

"Probably," Nick agreed as he dug into his lunch.

"Wes is already fed up with me," Blaine complained, ignoring Kurt and company altogether. "I asked his advice the other day and he decreed that I be silent. Literally, Kurt, he took out his gavel and told me to get out of his dorm."

Jeff snorted into his soup. "And you _listened_ to him? He's said that to me approximately a million times."

"Well, come on. He has a _gavel_, guys - "

"Point of order," Kurt teased, getting a small smile out of Blaine. "The mourning period is officially over from this moment forth. We need to get you your mojo back."

"My what?"

Nick looked up from his meal. "His _what?_"

"I've seen Austin Powers. Finn had a marathon - " Everyone was looking at him now. " - You know what? It's just a _really_ long story."

"Isn't that, like, equivalent to sex appeal? You think I have _sex appeal?_"

Kurt ignored him, but felt himself flush a little bit under Blaine's incredulous stare. "We need to do something to make you feel better. To get you back in the game."

"What, do you think I'm going to be falling for anyone else anytime soon?" Blaine scoffed. "I don't think so. Love's too messy. It's disgusting."

"Whether you're going to act on it or not, we need you to stop being so…whiny. It's not very…_sexy_," he finished softly, perpetually embarrassed about using that word. He saw David elbow Jeff in the ribs, but chose to ignore it.

"I'm not being whiny," the other boy protested. "I'm _seeking advice_ from my colleagues – that's completely different." Thankfully he didn't comment on the whole "sexy" thing, but he did seem to be smirking a bit into his food.

"You haven't stopped talking about it since it happened," David hurried to point out.

Kurt nodded. "You're obsessing over it and freaking out about every move you make. It's maddening. And depression doesn't suit you - even your curls are drooping lately."

"Yeah, okay, but I'm still in the 'shocked state' - "

"No, Blaine," Kurt cut in. "No."

"No?"

"_No._"

"O-Okay," Blaine relented, giving Kurt his doe-eyes of innocence. "What do I do, Master Miyagi?"

Kurt thought about it for a minute. "We could have you sing a sexually concentrated song in Old Navy," he joked.

That sent the other boys into a frenzy.

"Ha ha _ha_," Blaine deadpanned over all the laughter. "Next option."

Then, it came to him.

Kurt sat up a little straighter and looked Blaine's blazer over. "I know what we can do," he announced.

* * *

"No offense," Blaine said as they walked through the mall. "I know you love shopping, Kurt, but I don't see how this is supposed to help _me_."

"You'd be surprised what a new outfit can do for a person," Kurt told him.

Before Blaine could list off about a hundred activities that could help someone boost their self-esteem, he felt himself being ushered into the nearest store. He hesitated after they passed through the doorway, but followed Kurt into the men's section anyways. He didn't have much of a say in the matter – mostly because Kurt was his ride.

"I'm not even sure what we're supposed to be looking for," Blaine confessed, fingering a button-down in an alarming shade of yellow warily. "I really shouldn't be spending any money on any…" He'd been about to say "_useless clothes_", but he caught himself. "…_unnecessary_ expenses."

"Blaine, you've been through a traumatic incident," Kurt told him in that condescending tone meant to reassure him that he wasn't being lectured but-actually-totally-was. "I'm more than happy to help you back on your feet after Jeremiah rejected you so scornfully."

"Well - "

"And, really, what's an emergency credit card for if not to indulge every once in a while? Honestly, I'm doing you a favor," he continued. "Actual therapy would cost you thousands. Retail therapy: a mere hundred." He thought it over for a beat. "Maybe two."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say I'd really need _th_ - "

"What are your thoughts on green?" Kurt asked him abruptly.

Blaine glanced nervously at the long sweater Kurt was holding up. He'd felt fine a moment ago, but all of a sudden he was cripplingly self-conscious. They'd come straight from school and he, unlike Kurt, hadn't bothered to change out of his Dalton uniform. He regretted that decision now as he tugged on the hem of his red-piped blazer.

"I guess I mainly stick to blue and red," he admitted sheepishly, earning him a glare from his Warbler counterpart. "But I think the last shirt my mom bought me was gray," he was quick to amend.

Kurt was giving him a look that gave off direct vibes of "_why and how are we even friends?_"

"_Listen_ to yourself," Kurt scoffed. "Blue, red, and _gray?_ Letting your _mom_ shop for you? I should've taken you under my wing long ago," he said, emphasizing his point by putting an arm around Blaine's shoulders and guiding him further into the store.

"But those are my favorite colors," Blaine grumbled.

"Those are _Dalton's_ colors, not the Great Blaine _Anderson's _colors."

Blaine shook his head, hoping the heat that had blossomed under his color – indicating a sure blush – wasn't noticeable under this gritty, low lighting.

"But how would you know?" he insisted, shrugging off Kurt's hand. "When you met me, I was _wearing _my Dalton uniform," he reminded his friend with a laugh. "Maybe I should just stick to what works."

"That uniform – which has a grand total of about 3 variations – works for _no one,_ Blaine. Trust me."

"I beg to differ," Blaine said with an indifferent shrug. "I think it makes us look good. Clean, sharp, defined."

"_Blaine,_" Kurt exhaled his name like a sigh. "Start finding things to try on before you force me to go to the food court and drown myself in _Häagen-Dazs_."

"Ah, we wouldn't want that," Blaine teased. But he had his orders and he carried them out accordingly to the best of his abilities. "Are you sure I can't - "

"Stay away from the burgundy," Kurt answered without even looking. "Any variation of blue, red, or _gray_ - " He said the last color as if it were a disease rather than a mere hue of fabric, " – is expressly forbidden."

"You sound like a mad scientist," Blaine joked. "Itching to test out a new hypothesis with the most drawn-out experiment."

"This is an experiment of sorts," Kurt said with a smirk. "See if we can't get you a date by the end of the day."

Now Blaine _knew_ that the people sitting in the food court across the mall could probably see his blush, it was so deep. He tugged at the collar around his throat, suddenly uncomfortably tight and confining.

"That's the _last_ thing I need," he managed to choke out. "No dates, please." He forced himself to look through a rack of white shirts with various colored pinstripes. "I'm – what did you say? – emotionally traumatized, remember?"

Kurt just shook his head, wearing a cocky smile. "You'll get over it, Blaine. See if we can't get you dating again in month's time."

It was Blaine's turn to give Kurt an incredulous look. "Doubtful," was all he said. "Very doubtful."

* * *

"What about this?" Blaine asked, emerging from the dressing room.

He held out his arms and turned around stiffly, feeling totally _un_-him as he donned Kurt's choice of a skin tight jacket over a rather exuberant pair of suspenders (attached to high-waisted jeans, of course). He wasn't even sure he could name half of the embellishments that were going on in this outfit.

Kurt's eyes narrowed at Blaine's unenthusiastic tone. "Well I don't think too much of it if you refuse to have the slightest bit of…_zeal_," he told Blaine, sounding irritated. "You have to really _wear_ these outfits, Blaine. Make them your own."

"But _you_ picked this stuff out for me," Blaine pointed out.

Kurt clicked his tongue in distaste and shook his head. "I'll hear no more of that tone, Blaine Anderson."

"What about_ this_ one?" Blaine repeated in a higher-pitched cotton-candy sweet voice, seasoned with a healthy amount of sarcasm as he spread his arms out even further.

"Much better," Kurt approved with a small smile. "It's all wrong though," he said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I should've known that not all people can pull off rose taupe." He shook his head. "It's all wrong with your skin tone." He took Blaine's hand in his own. "You know, you would do well with a little color…"

Blaine snatched his hand back, caressing it as if Kurt had burned him with his touch. "There's nothing wrong with my skin tone," he sulked.

"Of course not," Kurt replied in a way that said he'd already made up his mind on the matter. "Just go try the next one."

"Don't you think I should pick out my own clothes at least?" Blaine asked. "I mean, I am paying for them and I'd like to think that I'll actually wear them if I have some sort of incentive - "

"Maybe we _could_ try another store," Kurt suggested, making a face as he studied Blaine's shirt.

"Kurt, this is like the sixth store," Blaine groaned.

Maybe he was whining, but shopping with Kurt was no joke. They spent an hour or more in each store, easy.

"Fine," Kurt relented. "Maybe I am shopping more for myself than for you," he admitted with a shrug.

"You think?" Blaine scoffed, tugging at his clothes.

Kurt bit his lip thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll make you a deal," he said at last. "If you let me choose the next store, I'll let you choose all the clothes."

"With minimal input?" Blaine pressed.

"Don't push it," the other boy warned him.

* * *

So that's how they ended up at some other store Blaine couldn't read the name of that had strange, growly music blaring through the speakers at an ungodly volume and had all its clothes under perilously dim light. It was a wonder the employees didn't trip over one another in the dark. Kurt told him that the low lighting was meant to help customers see their body differently. Blaine just snorted and asked if he really bought into that scam to sell more merchandise. Kurt just shook his head and pointed wordlessly towards the shirts.

"Actually - and this might just be the low light talking - I think that you would look really good in stripes," Kurt said, holding up a shirt to Blaine's torso. "What do you think?"

"Umm…I don't know," Blaine hesitated. The shirt looked innocent enough: white with thick black strips towards the bottom that grew thinner and more spaced apart towards the top. "I don't normally wear patterns," he confessed. "Solid colors make everyone look best."

"That's just a myth," Kurt argued, waving the remark away like a silly fly. "You should try this shirt on."

Blaine shrugged and took the hanger. "Why not?" he told himself.

"Also – and don't yell at me this time – I think you should consider colored pants," Kurt told him, holding up a pair of dark yellow jeans.

Blaine had to laugh at that one. He shook his head until he calmed down enough to say, "No, Kurt. You will _never_ catch me in a pair of colored pants. And if you do, feel free to slap me."

"Your legs are just right for - "

"Stop looking at my legs!" Blaine commanded, hiding behind the nearest rack. "How long have you been studying my legs?"

"Since the day I met you," Kurt teased.

Blaine knew he was joking (or was he?), but still he felt ridiculously aware of his legs after that. But, other than that, Kurt was true to his word and let him chose out his own shirts to try on – most of which were striped; something Blaine must've been doing unconsciously as he browsed.

And, amazingly, when he tried them on, he didn't look horrible. In fact, he kind of looked…good?

"I kind of like this one, too," he greeted Kurt as he showed him the fifth shirt: a black polo with red buttons towards the collar. "But it feels kind of weird," he admitted, touching his throat where the collar opened up a bit.

"That's just because you're used to wearing that hideous tie all the time," Kurt told him, straightening out the shirt where it had bunched up. He brushed Blaine's shoulders off and stood back to study him. "It does seem to be missing something, though," he said thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

"I just really like the feeling of something around my neck," Blaine declared. He opened and closed his mouth after a minute, rethinking that sentence. "I swear, that sounded like a perfectly fine thing to say when it was in my mind."

Kurt had a hand over his mouth, stifling his giggles. He just shook his head at Blaine. "I think you could do with a bow tie," he told Blaine, still laughing a bit.

"Oh, I don't know," Blaine said quickly. "I've never worn one and it seems a little formal, doesn't it?"

"Who says bow ties are only for important events?" Kurt wanted to know. "They can be fun. A nice pop of color – a statement."

"Well, I'm not really one for statements - " But Kurt was already walking away.

He returned in a minute with a green clip on bow tie. "Just try it and, I promise, if it's terrible, we'll just forget about it."

Blaine couldn't even protest because Kurt's hands were already around the back of his neck, putting the accessory in place and fastening it at the base of his throat. It was all he could do to hold his breath and at least try and stand still as Kurt adjusted it and put it into place.

Then the other boy dropped his hands from Blaine's neck, backed up, and held his hands up like a photo frame - thumbs to opposite pointer fingers in the shape of a rectangle - with one eye closed.

"You look good," Kurt told him. "Like _really_ good, actually."

"No I don't. I feel silly," Blaine muttered as he turned around to the mirror to see…someone mildly attractive, in fact. No, like someone who looked like he actually _knew_ how to dress himself. Was that him? "I don't look like me," he said aloud.

"Sure you do," Kurt told him. "You just look a little more fashion forward."

Blaine tilted his head slightly to the right. "I kind of like it, but…"

"But?" Kurt prompted.

Blaine shrugged.

He could see Kurt's reflection in the mirror and so he could see him nodding knowingly to himself. "But it's not your Warbler's uniform," Kurt finished for him.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed. "But change is good. I mean, I still have to wear my uniform to school every day. But I'd kind of forgotten what I looked like without it. Is that silly?"

Kurt put his arm around Blaine's shoulder and smiled at his reflection. "It's not silly," he assured him. "This outfit does look a little weird though with those slacks."

"Well, I have jeans at home," Blaine told him. "So we don't need to buy any more."

Kurt pushed him back into the dressing room from whence he came. "We're going shopping for jeans," he said in that don't-dare-mess-with-me voice. "Don't keep me waiting."

* * *

"Honestly, I don't need jeans!" Blaine said for the umpteenth time. "It'd just be a waste of money at this point," he complained. "I have plenty of jeans at home."

"But not at school," Kurt pointed out.

Blaine let his head drop with a muted thump against the nearest pile of jeans. "So what?" he groaned.

"So any decent human being has at least two pairs of go-to jeans on hand," Kurt stated, going through the shorts.

"No shorts!" Blaine exclaimed. "No. Shorts."

"You'll be regretting that decision come Summer," Kurt sing-songed.

"I have shorts," Blaine told him, feeling like he was turning into a broken record. "What I mean is," he corrected himself, "We can hold off on the shorts."

"But your _butt_ - "

"HEY," Blaine warned him, turning so that his rear end wasn't in Kurt's line of sight. "What did we establish about looking at my lower body?"

"But, Blaine, you _can't_ let that butt go to waste - "

"Nnnnn," Blaine shushed him. "What did we say?"

"Eyes above the belt," Kurt grumbled. "I know, I know."

"Right."

Kurt shrugged and dropped the shorts. "Fine. What kind of pants person are you, Blaine?"

"Is that like a normal question? Am I _supposed_ to know how to answer that?"

"Skinny jeans, relaxed fit, the boyfriend cut?" Kurt offered.

"The _boyfriend_ cut?" Blaine found himself echoing. "What the hell kind of jeans are _boyfriend cut?_ Who came up with that name? What does it mean?"

"Look, I don't have all the answers, Blaine," Kurt huffed. "I just need _an_ answer."

"Well now I don't know. I just wear _jeans_. Is there a word for just normal _jean-y_ jeans?"

"Yes," Kurt answered sarcastically. "And a few that come to mind are 'wrong', 'boring', and '_a crime against humanity_'."

"I don't think I'm going to buy jeans," Blaine said stubbornly. "I don't need any more. I think I'm pretty much set where jeans are concerned."

"No one is _set where jeans are concerned_," Kurt sneered. "Okay," he sighed. "I'll compromise once again. Where do you normally buy your jeans?"

Blaine felt his eyes go wide and he spun away from Kurt so quickly he nearly knocked over a display of artfully stalked shoes. "No place special," he lied, hearing his voice kick up an octave.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, sounding confused. "What's wrong?"

"No where," Blaine choked out. "I buy my jeans from no where."

Kurt laughed as if he were joking. "Blaine, you have to buy them from _somewhere_. Are you embarrassed? Do you get them from a secondhand shop or something?"

"_No,_" Blaine nearly shouted. "I mean, not that there isn't a...quiet dignity in that. But, no."

"Well then where?"

"_No where,_" Blaine repeated, frantically rifling through a pile of "strategically" ripped jeans for no particular reason other than to keep his hands busy. "I make my own jeans."

Now Kurt was doubling over with laugher. "Stop joking around, you idiot," he told Blaine. "Come on, be _honest_."

"I don't need jeans," Blaine said, practically running away from Kurt when he started towards him. "I'm Jesus."

"Okay, stop being stupid - just tell me," Kurt demanded, clearly not amused anymore.

"The Gnnnnff," Blaine muttered through clenched teeth.

Kurt walked right up to him and leaned in closer. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that."

"The_ Gap,_" Blaine exhaled in a jumbled rush. "I buy my jeans from The Gap."

Kurt stood silently as he glared. Blaine started to squirm, sure he could actually feel the other boy's distaste rolling off of him like waves. Then, just like that, Kurt spun on his heel and stormed out of the store.

"Kurt!" Blaine called after him. But he didn't turn around - he stalked right out of the store.

Blaine started after him, but then he realized that he was holding an armful of merchandise he hadn't purchased yet. So he set it down on the nearest shelf and took off after Kurt.

In the short few minutes it had taken for Blaine to catch up, Kurt had walked a considerable distance.

"Where are you going?" Blaine called after him. "Wait up!"

"_Häagen_-_Dazs_," Kurt threw back over his shoulder as an explanation.

"Wait, wait!" Blaine yelled as he sprinted the last few yards. He skid to a halt, sliding a few feet on the mall's tiled floor as he made a grab for Kurt's hand. "Please don't drown yourself in overpriced ice cream," he begged.

"I can't believe that you _not only_ moon over strange looking men who are in desperate need of a haircut that work at The Gap, you also buy your clothes there," Kurt told him, looking thoroughly shell-shocked. "Do you have some sort of death wish?"

"Kurt, there's nothing _wrong_ with The Gap - "

"_Excuse me?_"

"There's...n-nothing wrong with...The G-Gap?" Blaine repeated in a small voice, suddenly unsure of himself as Kurt's angry eyes bore into him.

"You can't be serious," he deadpanned. "Nothing wrong with The Gap? There's _everything_ wrong with The Gap. Just...listen to me, Blaine. You're better than that."

"I-I am?" Blaine stammered. Kurt had put his hands on either of his shoulders and he was starting to feel a little confused.

"_Be better than The Gap,_" the taller boy commanded in a low voice.

"Better?"

"Blaine, repeat after me," Kurt ordered. "'I am better than The Gap.'"

"I don't really think that's necessary - "

"Say it," Kurt hissed.

Blaine swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. He hesitated before gluing his eyes on Kurt's shoes. "I'm better than The Gap," he mumbled.

"I can't hear you with that defeatist attitude," Kurt sang.

It was Blaine's turn to glare. He ground his teeth together and kicked a foot against the floor, scuffing it. He looked around before repeating at a slightly louder volume, "I am better than The Gap, Kurt."

"You don't have to convince _me,_" Kurt shrugged. "But if that's what you were going for, I'm not. Convinced, I mean."

A deep breath. "I am better than The Gap," Blaine asserted.

Kurt cupped a hand over his ear. "Did you say something? It's just so _loud_ in here..."

"_I AM BETTER THAN THE GAP!_" Blaine shouted at the top of his lungs.

He felt himself turning as red as the piping on his blazer as an older woman bustled past them with a large bag hanging on her arm emblazoned with the Gap logo. She threw him a particularly dirty look as she walked by.

Blaine snuck a look at Kurt, who had a hand clamped over his mouth and looked like he was suffering from a seizure.

"Well I'm glad you found that funny," Blaine snapped miserably.

"No," Kurt gasped, still laughing. "No, that was good." He squeezed Blaine's hand and they walked back towards the store. "I really believed you that time."

* * *

_A/N: So two weeks ago I *might* have watched Crazy Stupid Love and this needed to be a thing, alright? I also miss Warbler!Kurt and Blaine and it felt so good to write them back at Dalton - I miss my Warblers! _

_I've been writing this throughout Finals crunch time (shhh it'll just be our little secret - I wasn't supposed to be writing) and it just felt good to let go of this plot bunny/mini-semi-ish-crossover? I don't know, is there a name for this besides "mutant brain spew that flopped out of my head and onto my notebook"? Several headcanons in there, so sue me. It was fun though, hope y'all enjoyed!_

_Shoutout to my best llama, Mia, who I started writing this for. Totally worth it, right?_

**_Sugary-sweet reviews are kindly appreciated (:_**


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